Rough Absolution
by Anya2
Summary: They are the only people in the civilised world who have precise knowledge of Skull Island and its inhabitants, information that some would consider priceless.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Rough Absolution

Part: 1 of ?

Pairing: Ann/Jack

Rating: T

Warnings (for the whole fic): Violence, mildly suggestive themes

Spoilers: This is a sequel, so the whole film is fair game.

Summary: Five months after Kong's demise; America is still at the lowest point of the Great Depression, Ann and Jack are tentatively trying to start their life together, Carl is still in hiding and the SS Venture has not been seen since. They are the only people in the civilised world however who have precise knowledge of Skull Island and its inhabitants, information that some would consider priceless.

Disclaimer: PJ's just too cool to try and steal anything from him although the plot is mine and he's not having it.

* * *

**Part 1**

Ann stood silent and still by the cage bars, a small delighted smile gracing her parted lips as she tried desperately not to frighten off the little creature as the noisy children had done when they had run past moments earlier. When it finally once more stepped fully out of its shelter, eyeing her with wary suspicion, she allowed her smile to widen a little but remained otherwise deathly still. It looked at her for a few long moments, cocking its head in an almost bird like fashion, trying to sum up whether or not she was a threat or a friend. Eventually though, like it had with so many of the people in this city of late, the needs of its stomach won out and it shot towards her, picking up an orange segment from the branch nearby and then retreating a few feet away to eat it.

Ann continued to watch patiently, still not moving except to smile at the little creature's every curious glance and head tilt. It was studying her too as it hurriedly ate, as if torn between interest and caution, not sure which to trust. Apparently it came to the final decision that maybe she wasn't so bad after all, because the second time it moved towards her much more slowly, still wary but not running now. It cautiously picked up a slice of apple between its dextrous paws and sat not a foot in front of her, eating contentedly, still watching her with wonderful curiosity.

According to the faded, washed out sign next to the cage, it was a Cotton-top tamarin, a type of small monkey. It certainly was small too, barely much bigger than the squirrels that ran around the park outside, although it had much bushier fur and a rather proud looking crest of long white hair on its head that made it look more impressive. And no squirrel she had ever seen had exhibited a look of such thought and intelligence in its eyes as this creature was able to possess.

When it had finished eating for the second time Ann had expected it to retreat back to its shelter once more, its interest in her lost now it no longer needed to be worried about her presence. Instead, and much to her surprise, it came closer still, stretching up its front paws and placing them on the bars so its face was level with hers, coming in for a better look. It squeaked at her merrily, trying to say something she had no hope of understanding. Sounded friendly enough though.

"Well hello there…" she greeted in a soft tone, her delighted smile widening to new levels.

Whatever it had sounded like to the tamarin he seemed to appreciate it because he reached down and picked up a grape, holding it out to her through the bars.

"Why thank you," she said with a slight laugh, going to take it but unable to resist stroking her fingers across the soft, tiny little hand first, "You're a sweet little guy, aren't you?"

"Do I have competition I should know about?"

Startled, the small monkey squeaked loudly in alarm, dropping the grape and bolting off back to the safety of its shelter.

Ann turned with a look of scolding to see that Jack had indeed rejoined her once more.

"Not now you scared him off, no," she pointed out dryly.

He had the good grace to look mildly apologetic.

In a spirit of forgiveness Ann linked arms with him, pulling him away from the cage and continuing along the path, knowing the little creature wouldn't be coming out again any time soon.

Central Park Menagerie was apparently closing down in a few weeks. For remodelling according to the signs on the gates. With things the way they were though Ann feared it would never reopen and in a couple of months they'd give up on the idea all together and sell the animals off to other zoos. She'd been coming here since she was a little girl – it had always been one of the few treats she could persuade her mother to take some time out of the theatre and rehearsals for – and it didn't seem right that she should let it go without one final visit. Nor without sharing it with Jack; one of the few parts of her past that wasn't connected to the stage, something different, a part she could give him openly as gesture of how much she wanted him in her life as a whole. It was like she was sharing a part of who she was.

Even though she had a feeling that he understood the significance of it, she wasn't entirely sure how much he appreciated the experience on the surface. Even before the incident of five months ago she wasn't convinced that he'd been much of an animal person, and all that had happened had certainly done nothing to change his mind. But he seemed quite content to walk around here with her, waiting patiently by her side whilst she carefully studied the inhabitants of each cage as though she understood them a lot more than she should. What she had been through had certainly given her a deeper appreciation of them.

Seeing the menagerie in such a state of disarray - a shadow of its former self, the animals seeming to wear the same veil of depression the people of this city did -was a disheartening sight and a small part of her questioned whether coming here had really been such a good idea after all. But Ann had needed the fresh air, needed to get out in the daylight for a while instead of spending her days in rehearsal ready for her nights in the show. Besides, she could feel a cold coming on and she couldn't afford to be ill right now. Fresh air and exercise could help.

And Jack was here, of course. Nothing seemed quite so bad to her when he was around.

She grabbed his arm a little tighter, pressing herself closer to him as they walked. As perceptive of her as he always was, he immediately looked down with a mildly concerned frown.

"You okay?"

She smiled reassuringly.

"Perfect."

Which was a lie, of course. Perfect would be being able to sign herself as Mrs Ann Driscoll. Perfect would be not having to say goodbye to him every night. Perfect would be waking up in the morning with his arms around her, lying there longer than she really should just because she couldn't bear to tear herself away from his embrace. But she understood Jack well enough to know that he took his time with these things. That they required consideration and careful thought. He didn't want to say anything so important if the words weren't perfect. She understood that and could give him his time.

Only she had hoped he would have asked before now.

Banishing the thought from her mind, telling herself she was being silly – he was half killing himself to get his new play up and running perfectly, and once that was sorted he'd ask her then for sure – she tugged on his arm slightly, pulling him in a new direction.

Tigers were next. Well, tiger now, although she distinctly remembered there being many more when she was small. Those animals were probably dead by now though and the menagerie didn't have the funds to replace them. The last remaining one hardly looked in the first flush of youth either, sitting at the back of his enclosure, all faded nobility. His coat wasn't in the best condition and he was probably a little thinner than he really should be, yet he sat with pride, his battle scarred face speaking of how he had earned the right to do so. It reminded her very much of another creature…

She had no idea how long she stood there, gazing at the animal, some kind of magnetism not letting look away until he wished her to do so. It was a power she didn't think people were meant to be able to understand. When she finally came back to awareness of her surroundings, she realised that Jack was gone, no longer at her side. She quickly looked around, surprised, although she didn't know why she was so worried – it wasn't like she was going to lose him now. They were safe here.

She spotted him standing a few feet away, a troubled look on his face as he carefully studied a piece of paper he was holding. As though feeling the weight of her gaze on him, he suddenly looked up, hurriedly folding the paper away and placing it in his pocket, doing a terrible job at not looking guilty.

"What's that?" she asked as she walked over to him, unable to help herself.

"Nothing," he brushed aside.

"Oh," she mouthed, looking away, not liking how she sounded like a sulking child, but not being able to hide it. The thought of Jack wanting to conceal something from her chilled her slightly. It made her worry, brought out that little paranoid side of her that had always been adamant that good things never lasted and which was waiting patiently to be proved right once again.

Jack immediately took the paper out of his pocket once more.

"No," she insisted, shaking her head, telling him to put it away and ignore her silliness, "I understand. It's private."

"It's a letter from Carl," he explained with a slight sigh, an air of apprehension around him.

So that's why he'd been so secretive. Since they had last briefly seen him just before his self imposed exile from New York, neither of them had mentioned Carl Denham's name. In fact, they had barely mentioned the whole incident at all, even though sometimes Ann wished she felt comfortable enough to bring it up as a subject of conversation. Jack didn't seem to want to know though or, to be more precise, he wished to forget. To move on with their lives and live them in the here and now, which Ann guessed was the sensible thing to do. Even if there were times when she desperately needed to tell him about the nightmares she still had on occasion. But she couldn't and so she always ended up comforting herself. It was something she'd gotten used to since she was a child.

"Oh," she said again, just to fill the sudden silence between them whilst she thought of something more productive to say, "How is he?"

Jack shrugged, "Okay, I guess. Managed to get himself a job directing radio commercials in Chicago."

Ann nodded gravely. From what she understood of Carl, she had a feeling he would hate such a job and the look on Jack's face, who had known him much longer and much better, confirmed it. No room for art and self expression in that kind of business. You were not bringing anything wonderful to the masses there. And although she still bore him ill will in some ways, she could sympathise with him at that. It reminded her a lot of her own current situation.

And with the sun just beginning to dip over the horizon, she knew it was a situation she should be returning to, like it or not. With some reluctance, she turned to the path leading towards the exit, taking Jack's hand and guiding him along with her.

"I should be getting back," she explained, at his curious glance, "Rehearsals start in an hour."

She felt Jack sigh, even though he tried to hide the automatic reaction.

Being a chorus line girl was hardly her dream job but it did pay the rent and feed her without compromising her dignity to base levels, which right now was realistically the best she could hope for. Jack didn't like her doing it, positively hated it in fact, although she had a feeling that was mainly because she clearly disliked it so much herself rather than because he had any true objections of his own. Still, it was only a few more weeks. Six to be precise. Forty-two days and she'd finally be on the stage in a proper theatre, performing in one of Jack Driscoll's plays. It was always much easier to bear something you would have found otherwise unbearable had there been no end in sight. Besides, she point blankly refused to let him make another actress unemployed just so she could get a job there. She was content to wait it out, wearing pretty dresses, prancing and smiling an empty, fixed smile until Sally McKenzie's contract was up and she left for LA to try for the ever blooming movie business. Leaving behind her a gap in Jack's cast that he insisted Ann would be perfect to fill.

When she looked up and saw the expression on his face, she immediately stepped in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. He instantly avoided her gaze, not wanting her to see the troubled look on his face. He really did worry too much.

She reached up and pushed his hat back a little so she could see him.

"Just stop that, okay?" she instructed gently, "It's alright."

"But you hate it," he pointed out in exasperation, not for the first time, "It's not what you want."

"It's not forever," she reasoned, "And it could be much worse."

She couldn't avoid an involuntary shudder as the thought of the burlesque house came to her mind once more, reminding her how very close she had come to surrendering her decency for a pay check.

Jack wrapped his arms protectively around her.

"I keep telling you," he said, a beseeching tone in his voice, "You don't need to worry about money, I could-"

She put her fingers to his lips to silence him.

"Don't," she warned, not wanting to hear that offer again. She'd already turned it down a dozen times at least. "I don't need charity," she insisted, "I can earn a wage. I can look after myself."

"That's the point," Jack reasoned, "You don't have to anymore."

She smiled at his words, even though a small part of her looked skywards at them. It was some kind of male natural instinct she guessed, even though it ignored the fact that she'd lived in this city alone since she was thirteen and she'd done okay for herself so far. But to be fair to him, considering that within weeks of them meeting she had nearly been devoured by the jungles of Skull Island and its inhabitants, it was hardly surprising that he was more protective than needs be. Apparently she wasn't the only one susceptible to a little undue paranoia. Still, it was nice to feel really looked out for, even if it did take some getting used to.

"I think you've saved me enough for one life time," she pointed out, with a smile, "For which I am ever so grateful."

He raised a playful eyebrow, forgetting their troubles for a moment, "Just how grateful?"

"Very," she assured, going on tip toes to kiss him, glad when he met her half way.

When they pulled apart, her hands resting on his chest, a sudden flush to her cheeks in the sharp spring air, she saw two women tutting and shooting them disapprovingly looks at such a blatant public display. Ann just smiled though, not caring whether they thought it was appropriate behaviour or not. In harsh times like these you took happiness wherever and whenever you could get it.

Taking his hand, they continued to walk, out of the menagerie and passed the shanty town that had sprung up in Central Park; home now to the masses of unemployed and evicted. Things hadn't exactly improved much in the last few months but at least they hadn't gotten any worse. People were beginning to say that this was rock bottom, that it could only get better from here on in. And Ann certainly hoped they were right. It was about time everybody here got a break – there was only so much people could take.

And yet Ann didn't think things were all that bad as they were. At least not for her they weren't. She had her adored playwright and soon she would be starring in her first real play. She so very nearly had everything that mattered to her; she was even starting to believe that maybe the impossible could happen and that little paranoid voice inside her head could be silenced once and for all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Sorry if this seems a little slow. I know some people like to get to the action quickly but bare with me, this set up does all have a purpose I promise!

**Part 2**

Carl had always considered burlesque to be the gutter of the entertainment business. He'd once spent a long, hot summer working as a stage hand in one of the many such establishments that had appeared in New York over the last twenty years or so. It hadn't exactly been a career choice as such – if you overlooked the fact that he was doing it to earn money so he could go to college – but looking back, it had definitely given him a strong idea of what he didn't want to do. Whilst at the time all he could think was that being around women who weren't wearing very much and getting paid for the privilege was a pretty good start in life, he could now appreciate just how empty it all was. There was no art in the burlesque, no attempt to bring wonder and new experiences to the world. It was cheap titillation, designed to appeal to the letch in every guy, with no sense of the magical or the extraordinary only the coarse and desperate. In the burlesque there was only money and Carl had quickly learned that that wasn't enough.

Unfortunately it was a necessity though, one which even he couldn't escape from. Radio advertising afforded him the kind of anonymity he needed right now in the wake of what had happened, and it did pay the bills even if it was as empty as the burlesque had been to him. There was no room for freedom of expression here, no way to develop or try something new. It was 'record what was written with second rate actors and move on to the next one as quickly as possible'. Sometimes Carl wondered why he hadn't chucked himself in the lake yet.

Maybe it was because deep down, even after all that happened, he wasn't a quitter. He was down, yes, but he wasn't out. Never out until he gave up. And he couldn't do that. He owed it to Herb and Mike to keep going.

He shivered involuntarily, beckoning over the barman of the rather run down establishment he found himself in, pointing to his glass as a sign to refill it. The barman frowned at him, asking the question; haven't you had enough? Carl half snarled, banging the glass forcibly on to the bar in protest and the barman shrugged and poured away. It was no skin off his nose if a washed up film director drunk himself into an early grave.

The irony wasn't lost on Carl that at a time when pretty much the only industry that was flourishing was the movie business, he was out on his ear. People needed the kind of escapism that the movies provided right now, they clamored for the adventure and romance and the idea that there could be a happily ever after. It gave a chance for an increasingly depression-weary nation to live in a better world, if only for the duration of a movie. And Carl should be out there, giving the people what they wanted, what they needed. Instead he was sitting in a bar, drinking the cheapest whiskey known to man and trying to forget that he was recording a soap powder commercial in the morning.

He had no money, that was true, but that had never stopped him before. His main problem was that he was on his own, with no crew, cast or friends to help him make his idea a reality.

Sound was everything these days and soundmen were hot property. Carl had had one of the best in Mike, a man who shared his drive and vision, who was a perfectionist in his art and a genius in his own right. But he was gone now, the dull thud of the spear hitting his flesh, the splash of his body in the mud and his look of perplexed bewilderment all permanently etched in Carl's mind no matter how much he tried to scrub them away.

Herb had been an excellent cameraman, even though Carl had never given him the credit he deserved. He'd just gone about his job like a true professional, happy to let others take the glory, content just to do the thing he believed in. His screams as that thing dragged him away still woke Carl up at night.

A film was nothing without a good script of course, but the only writer Carl had any contact with was Jack and even then it was nothing to do with business. It couldn't be. Jack was busy; he had his play and he had Ann. Carl wasn't even sure why he'd written to him in the first place. Maybe it was just the need to tell someone what had happened. To show them that he was paying for everything that he'd caused. That he wasn't that bad a person after all.

Of course none of these problems would have been quite so bad had he had an assistant to help him solve them. The thought of Preston made him smile a little. When the guy had first come to work for him, all rich kid manners and good education, Carl had only given him a chance because he was desperate for an assistant and Preston would work for cheap. He kept going on about how he really wanted to work in the entertainment business and that he was willing to do anything, even though his parent's didn't approve of his career choice. And Carl had asked him to do a lot of things, some more illegal than others. But despite his protests, Preston hadn't once let him down. Never. He'd managed everything Carl had thrown at him, even when the director had been at his most difficult and rude. The kid had done good. And he'd certainly grown a pair. Carl smiled a little wider when he remembered how Preston had finally snapped, shouting that he had had enough and that he quit. In an odd way Carl was proud of him.

And so he drank again. Drank to friends who had moved on to better things and to ones who had given up everything for his vision only for it to amount to nothing. He drank to his life, acknowledging that he hated his own existence right now, but understanding that this was his punishment. He was pragmatic about that; he wasn't a good person, he was a selfish, arrogant, self absorbed jerk who shouldn't inflict himself on people who still had a chance.

But he didn't know the mousey looking guy who pulled up a stool next to him, standing out so starkly to the other customers here in both manner and appearance, and so allowed himself to accept the offer of a drink. Anyone who was drinking here had to be a hopeless loser like him anyway, and it was nice to have some company. They talked and drank until the sun came up and Carl had to go to work, all the time not really noticing that he was doing most of the talking, and that the guy did none of the drinking. Instead all he did was ask questions and wait patiently for answers from drunken, slurring lips.

It was only as he walked into the sobering affect of the chilly morning air that Carl began to wonder if he'd answered some questions that he really shouldn't have.

* * *

Ann smiled sweetly as the waitress stepped up to the table she had just taken in the diner, pen poised over her pad. 

"What can I get you, hun?" she asked cheerfully.

"Sorry," Ann apologised, immediately taking a liking to the woman's warmth and motherly disposition, glad that sunny manners weren't totally lost in this city, "I'm just waiting for someone, could I order when he gets here?"

"Sure," she said with a reassuring smile, snapping the pad closed and moving back to the counter without a fuss.

Ann settled back in the worn but comfortable chair, checking her watch, reminding herself once again that she really should try to get the fraying strap fixed before she lost it completely. Jack was only a couple of minutes late, nothing to worry about. He probably got caught up in something at the theatre and was late leaving. He always seemed to be late these days and she put it down to the closeness of his opening night, even if that little paranoid voice inside her insisted upon giving other horrible reasons that she refused to listen to.

Stifling her third dry cough in less than a minute she sighed. Yep, she was definitely coming down with something, no denying it now. At her fourth cough the waitress suddenly reappeared and placed a glass of water in front of her.

"Sounds like you need it," she explained with a kind smile.

Ann smiled gratefully in return, taking a generous sip, basking in the momentary relief in her sore throat.

"Thanks," she said, and the other woman just nodded and walked away.

When she next checked her watch, Jack was ten minutes late and she was getting increasingly nervous about him. Maybe he'd just forgotten or something. He was a very busy man and he'd probably run into some kind of problem with the play that had taken his attention entirely. He hadn't intentionally stood her up.

The mere thought made her shiver.

"Can I sit down, Miss?"

For the smallest moment she was grateful to whoever had spoken for dragging her away from her thoughts. Then she looked up and realised that a man she didn't know was asking if he could sit opposite her, in Jack's seat, and she began to feel supremely uncomfortable.

He obviously caught something of her confusion.

"Please Miss Darrow," he continued, "I've come a long way to talk to you. I only want a minute of your time."

She instantly tensed. He wasn't exactly an imposing figure, quite the opposite in fact, but she had had several bad experiences with people who 'just wanted a minute of her time' over the past few months. She was in no hurry to repeat any of them.

"How do you know my name?" she asked quietly, defensive in the extreme.

"Please," he said again, not really answering her question, "There's no need to be alarmed. I just want to talk to you about the incident on Skull Island. About the creature."

That did it. In an instant Ann was on her feet, scraping the chair back so violently that a few people turned to see what the fuss was. She didn't care. She had gotten used to reporters popping up at all sorts of moments trying and get an interview out of her, but what with her constant refusals she'd honestly thought that they'd given up by now. This was the first guy in weeks to try it and she certainly wasn't in the mood to indulge him.

"I've told your kind a hundred times, okay? I have nothing to say," she stated firmly, going to walk past him and collect her coat. Jack may be here shortly, find that she apparently hadn't showed and get worried, but that was just tough. It was his stupid fault for being late in the first place. Right now all she needed was to get away.

The guy stepped in front of her, managing to make the gesture not look threatening at all. She supposed it was his small stature and rather mousy appearance that did it. He reminded her a little of Preston.

"Please, Miss Darrow," he soothed, "I assure you, I'm not from the press. I'm from the university. Washington State to be precise. I'm a zoologist. I'm part of the team who's been studying the remains."

That stopped her more quickly than any of his reassurances over who he was and what his intentions were could have done.

As she had gradually gotten over the shock of what had happened, she had begun to wonder what they had done with his body. It was hardly something you could dispose of easily. Despite keeping an eye on the papers, she had seen nothing mentioned and had assumed that they had just disposed of it somewhere. Hardly a fitting end for such a creature.

Although considering that in reality it seemed that he had become some kind of science project, she started to think that she actually preferred the former.

He took her sudden silence as interest and carried on.

"Obviously there's only so much we can get from flesh and bones though," he explained, "We want to know more about his behaviour and I heard that you were the woman to ask."

She was still eyeing him suspiciously.

"There's nothing to tell," she replied hollowly, "I don't know anything."

She went to leave but he nimbly stepped in front of her again, desperation on her face matching the look on his. But she couldn't go here. She didn't talk about it. Not to anyone. She'd gotten used to that.

"With all due respect, Miss Darrow, you're lying," he said with a knowing look, "I've heard the stories, I've read the papers."

Ann looked away, not wanting to know what lies he had read. They'd printed some terrible things about Kong. Some utterly disgusting. At times she had wanted to correct them, to put them straight, but Jack had talked her out of it. If she talked, they would never leave her alone. They would make her life hell. And so she'd let them print the lies, just to protect herself.

"Look at it this way," the man continued, half pleading, trying everything to persuade her, "We're not interested in sensationalising this. We're scientists. We just want to find out the truth about this amazing animal. Don't you want that too? Don't you want people to stop seeing him as a monster?"

She looked up, holding his gaze, wide eyed and shocked. It was like he had read her perfectly.

"Your testimony can help us do that," he gently promised, obviously sensing that he had her hooked with that.

Slowly she sat down, still warily keeping an eye on him, not quite ready to trust, but willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"Okay," she agreed, "Ask me. But I don't answer anything I don't want to."

"Agreed," he said with a pleased nod and a smile, sitting down opposite her, "And thanks. You have no idea how much this means to me."

He spent the next ten minutes grilling her, trying to make his enquiries as accurate and thorough as possible without sounding as if he was forcing the information from her. He wrote down everything she said in a well used note book, punctuating her explanations and answers with responses such as 'fascinating', 'brilliant' and 'really?' He was particularly interested in how protective the animal had become of her, explaining that he likely saw her as part of his family group as she had engaged with him in a manner he found pleasing and so protecting her had then become part of his job. Gorillas are highly social animals, he had gone on to say, and it wasn't surprising that a solitary specimen such as he had been had grown to accept her so quickly.

Despite her initial reservations, Ann found the conversation quite cathartic. It felt good to talk about it, after keeping it to herself for so long. It felt even better to talk to someone who understood and could offer her an explanation of what had happened.

"So, from what I can gather you were under the impression that he was the last of his kind?" the man asked, flicking back through his notes, not bothering to look up at her as he spoke.

She shrugged, "Well, I didn't see any live ones. Just some bones."

He frowned slightly, "Pity."

He spent another moment consulting his notebook, flicking rapidly through the pages before pausing taping it with his pencil, noting that he had forgotten something important.

"Ah yes," he remembered, "Several reports, including your own, stated that there were other creatures on the island. Giant lizards, so they said."

She nodded.

"Tell me," he said, reaching down into the briefcase he had placed on the floor and pulling out a larger journal, "The creatures you said the gorilla protected you from, did they look something like this?"

He opened the notebook, practically shoving it in her face and Ann jumped a little, her breath catching as she instantly saw something that she wished to forget, all in beautiful rendered in horribly accurate artwork.

"Er…Yes. Yes, I think that's it," she mumbled, trying to regain her composure. He didn't seem to notice her discomfort though, simply pulling the book away and scribbling once more in his notebook, clear enough this time for Ann to read.

'_Genus Tyrannosauridae positively identified…'_

"And what about the people living on the island?" he asked, barreling on, his enthusiasm making him oblivious to how hard this was getting for her, "What were the natives like?

Ann couldn't even form words to describe it. The terror that suddenly gripped her at the mention of them made her clasp her hands so tightly that her knuckles whitened. She didn't know why it should be, but they scared her more than the animals that lived there ever could. There was something simply wrong about them, something disturbing that seem to gnaw parts of her soul out whenever she thought about them. They were the stuff of her deepest, darkest nightmares and she had no wish to divulge those thoughts to a man of science who would have no appreciation of them.

"Sorry," he said kindly, clearly having finally seen her discomfort but having the good manners to not mention it directly, "I've just had you talking and talking here, haven't I? There's only so much probing you can take, huh? Why don't I buy you a coffee?"

She nodded numbly in acceptance.

Minutes later she finally felt normal again, coffee cup warming her fingers, the chill in her blood gone, silence reigning between her and her unexpected companion. Jack was still no where to be seen, now a good half hour late. He wasn't coming. She should leave.

"I can't thank you enough," the man said, hurriedly gulping at his own coffee as he made his last few notes, apparently having finally run out of questions, "Really Miss Darrow, this will help our research no end."

He smiled a little.

"And me, if I'm honest. We're a bit short on funding right now. This is just the kind of thing we need to convince people that we're still worth investing in. And that I'm still worth employing."

She could understand that kind of desperation for work, willing to do almost anything if it kept you doing the thing you loved, and forgave his previously pushy manner a little.

"Glad I could help," she said courteously before quickly moving to a point that she realised she had entirely neglected until now, "I'm sorry but I didn't catch your name…"

"Jeez, Ann, I'm so sorry, there was this problem with the second act and I-"

Jack's hurried apology, given as he stepped up to the table, slightly out of breath and clearly flustered, was abruptly halted when he spotted the guy sitting opposite her. In his seat.

"Who's this guy?" he asked, none too politely, his manner icy in the extreme.

Ann was wondering how bad it would sound if she admitted she'd been having coffee with a guy whose name she didn't even know, when the man in question saved her the embarrassment.

He stood, picking up Jack's unwilling hand and shaking it with vigor, "Hi, I'm Benjamin Gallenstein, Washington State University. Miss Darrow here was just helping me with some enquiries about the giant beringei graueri specimen she encountered."

Jack looked blank.

"The big gorilla," Gallenstein clarified.

Jack nodded, but ignored all that he said, only apparently caring about one thing.

"You're in my seat," he stated icily.

Ann cringed at such an unnecessary display of ownership over her, but Gallenstein seemed to be unaffected.

"Right," he said cheerfully, "Of course. Sorry about that. I was just on my way actually." He hurriedly picked up his things, carefully stowing his notebook away in the briefcase. "Thanks again, Miss Darrow. If you like I can send you any reports I make for your approval."

She nodded, "That would be good. Thank you."

He tipped his hat politely at her, nodding a farewell at Jack which the other man ignored, and left.

Jack slid into the seat opposite her, looking grumpy and put out.

"Have a nice chat?" he asked.

Jack was incapable of dropping into the full depths of sarcasm. In fact he had much the same calm, measured tone for nearly all his words and observations. But even he couldn't hide the underlying hints of jealousy in his question. Ann would've thought it sweet had it not been so damn annoying.

"Like he said, he was from the university," she answered firmly, clear she would take no nonsense from him, "They've got Kong's body. They've been studying him and they want to know more."

"Yeah?" he replied, still in a huff although apparently unable to be truly angry in the face of reason, "Well they should leave you out of it."

"I can decide that for myself," she stated, making it clear that it was her decision to make, "And besides, where else will they get their information from? The papers? At least he's interested in the truth. You read what they wrote Jack, those disgusting lies I-"

She stopped sharply, sickened by the reminder.

Jack, all the tense suspicion and jealousy gone, laid his hand gently across hers.

"It's okay," he soothed, giving her hand a squeeze, "And you're right. Better talk to a guy like him than anyone else, huh?" He shook his head, running his free hand back through his hair, "Jeez, I'm sorry Ann. It's just been one hell of a morning."

She smiled gently, brushing her fingers across his cheek affectionately, shaking her head, all forgiven.

"You work too hard," she scolded lightly.

He sighed, "I just want this to be perfect, you know?"

"It will be," she said with a genuine smile, "It's one of your plays."

He smiled in return, lifting up her hand to his lips and kissing the back of it softly.

"Oh so you're the guy who left this one of her own," the waitress said with a jolly grin, stepping up to the table once more, giving Ann a friendly wink, "If I was you son, I wouldn't leave one like this unattended. Pretty girl like this won't stay lonely for long, someone'll try steal her for sure."

Jack smiled more broadly, not taking his eyes off of Ann.

"Yeah, I know that."

Her insides soared and a sudden warmth springing up despite the chill in the air and the lack of decent heating. It was like a weight had been lifted off of her shoulders, like some of her guilt had been stripped away. For the first time in a long while, Ann felt truly free.

"Oh, he's got nothing to worry about," she replied, eyes only for the man sitting opposite her, "I don't plan on being stolen by anyone."

Outside, Benjamin Gallenstein waited nervously on the street corner, tapping his feet, clutching at the briefcase as though his very life depended on it. He didn't like to think that it probably did.

The car finally stopped in front of him and he got in, handing over the briefcase to the man occupying the other back seat, somewhat relieved to be rid of it. It wasn't his responsibility now.

"Well?" the other man asked, flicking through the notebook without taking much in, "Did she tell you?"

"I didn't ask."

"Excuse me?"

Ben sighed, "She's hardly going to know is she. I thought it was more important to get some information from her without scaring her off. Besides, Driscoll showed up. I didn't want to cause a scene."

The other man shook his head, not really listening to his excuses, "I wonder about you sometimes, Ben, I really do. What exactly do I pay you for?"

"You don't," Ben pointed out, "Not for the last three months at least."

"That isn't my fault," the other man stated firmly, "I'm not the one controlling our funding."

"I know," Ben said with a frustrated sigh, "It's just…We're so close, damn it. We need this or it's all over. What are we going to do now?"

The other man did something Ben rarely saw him do. He smiled.

"Mr Young is working on it."

Ben shivered. He remembered Mr Young and he didn't like the way he worked.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3**

Jack sat silently in the darkness of the stalls, carefully watching the rehearsal, mentally noting down everything he thought warranted improvement. He smiled a little to himself as Sally McKenzie surreptitiously glanced his way, almost missing her next cue in the process. She couldn't possibly see him here, hiding beyond the dazzle of the lights, but she knew he was out there, watching everything that happened with sharp, scrutinising eyes. She said that he made her nervous, that she wasn't used to such close inspection especially from a writer of all people. That was probably why she was off to Hollywood so soon. There people wouldn't be looking at her acting anymore, just how well she fitted the dresses and whether or not her make up was perfect. Despite her insecurities though she was definitely a talented actress and it was a pity to lose her from the theatre entirely.

Although if it meant that Ann could take her place then it was a sacrifice he was more than willing to make on both a personal and professional level. As good as Sally McKenzie was, Ann was perfect. The role had been written for her after all. Sally just didn't quite possess the same deftness of touch, the same way of pulling at an audience with every glance and look that Ann seemed capable of without even knowing what she did. Jack would have been quite happy to fire Sally at the start of all this and put Ann in her place, but his producer Mr Weston had talked him out of it, reminding him that a lawsuit was not a good way to get a new play off the ground. And Ann had been happy enough about it too, agreeing with the reasoning, saying that she could easily handle the chorus line for another six weeks. But Jack knew that until she was on that stage, speaking his words, he would never be entirely happy with what he saw in front of him and so he had to temper his criticisms some what, for once trying to take a step back and let his director do his job unaided.

He glanced up as he heard the sound of someone moving and smiled to see Ann herself walking carefully along the row behind him, taking a seat to his right. He tried not to wonder why she hadn't come and sat directly next to him, instead focusing on the fact that after a long day, he was very pleased to see her.

"How's it going?" she asked, leaning forward to whisper to him so that she wouldn't disturb the actors on stage.

He nodded, "Good. Better than it was."

"Did you sort out the second act?"

"Yeah, kind of."

He had a feeling that Ann wasn't entirely listening to him though because she didn't question that at all, instead just looking at the stage. The joy on her face could have almost made him believe that she was simply enjoying the performance if it wasn't for the hint of wistful longing in her eyes. She wanted to be up there, no matter how much she tried to hide it, telling him that the chorus line was just fine. It still ate at him that he had it within his power to make that dream happen for her but he let it slip by in favour of money and politics.

He shifted a little in his seat, turning his attention entirely towards her, knowing the least he could do was be attentive and caring.

"So how were rehearsals?"

She nodded, managing to just about tear her gaze away from the stage.

"Fine," she stated simply, clearly having nothing else to say on the matter. That was all she ever said, that was 'fine' or 'okay'. And he guessed it was, but he could fully understand why she couldn't be more animated about it.

He frowned a little, noticing even in the dim light of the stalls that she looked paler than normal. She'd been on the verge of getting a nasty cold for days now and he was worried that that and the nights in the theatre were taking their toll.

That's what he was supposed to do, wasn't it? Look after her. Even though half the time he didn't believe he had either the means or ability to do so. And from what he could tell he seemed to be doing a pretty poor job of it so far.

"You okay?" he asked, pressing his hand lightly to her forehead, just to check. She didn't have a temperature, which was one blessing.

"Fine," she reassured yet again, pulling back a little from him, as always not wanting the fuss. He understood that she was used to her independence, used to looking out for herself. He just wished that once in a while she'd surrender a bit more easily and let him sort things out. Let him do something for her.

"Have you had dinner yet?" he continued, running his hand down her arm and taking her hand, not willing to let the matter drop even though she was trying to brush it aside.

She shook her head dismissively, "Don't worry about it. You need to finish your rehearsal."

"Hey," he scolded, softening his face to a smile when he realised that that had come out a little more frustrated than he had intended, "Don't start, okay? I'm prioritising here."

Ann smiled slightly at that and he grinned wider in return.

"Besides," he added, "I'm starving too. Why don't I run to the diner across the street and get us something?"

Her smile broadened and she shuffled closer, sitting on the very edge of her seat, her pretty face brightened with sudden, unexplainable joy, "What a little picnic for two in the stalls? How romantic!"

"Give me a chance okay," he said with a small laugh at her teasing, "I'm trying."

"Well I think you're doing just fine," she stated, a very slight shyness coming over her, a blush tainting her cheeks. Ann wasn't the sort of woman who was used to admitting her feelings so freely, that he'd quickly learned. He got the sense that she'd been burnt more than once in the past by being so open, but it felt like prying if he was to ask her about it.

Jack couldn't resist the urge to kiss her at that moment, the playful, happy look on her face just too appealing, trying also to encourage her that it was okay to say things like that. That he wanted to hear them and it just made him love her even more. The softness of her chilled lips under his was so intoxicating that he didn't even notice that the house lights had come up until he heard someone holler.

"Hey Romeo! What did you think?"

He quickly broke away from Ann and turned to see his director, Derek Harlow, standing there with his hands firmly planted on his hips, looking up at them. He was an absolute bear of a man, appearing more suited to the building site than the theatre, but he was easily the best director Jack had ever worked with.

"It was great, Derek," he reassured, "Just great."

Harlow chuckled, "I wasn't talking about Ann, you know! How you doin' sweetheart?"

She smiled coyly and gave him a quick wave.

Jack turned to her, "Stay here. I'll pop over to the diner and be right back."

Not waiting for her reply in case she tried to argue again, he stood up out of his seat, nimbly working his way through the row and down to where Harlow was waiting for him.

"It was great, really," he reassured, patting the other man on the arm, "Couple of bits and pieces here and there but it's just minor stuff."

Harlow raised an eyebrow, "From what you saw of it anyway, huh?"

Jack looked mildly sheepish, "Sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"Jack, son, relax," Harlow said with a broad grin, shaking his head, "If you were more interested in this play than that girl, then I'd be worried. It's about time you got yourself a life."

Jack grinned slightly self consciously in return.

"I remember what it was like when I first met my wife," Harlow continued, a delicacy to his words and features that Jack wasn't used to, "I just knew straight away that she was the girl I was gonna marry. I couldn't wait to ask her."

Jack's eyes immediately turned skywards. For reasons apparently only known to himself, Harlow had single handedly set himself up as a father figure to Jack, giving him advice and calling him 'son' as though he was talking to a man much younger than one who was approaching thirty. Jack was sure that he had decent intentions, but he liked to keep himself to himself and his private thoughts private. He had always been a thinker and had never been happy about doing something until he got it straight in his head and could do it on his own terms. He wasn't used to being barracked like this at every turn.

"I'm gonna do it," he said with mild exasperation, "I'm gonna ask her."

Harlow snorted a laugh.

"Oh yeah?" he said almost scornfully, "When would that be then? Next blue moon? Or the one after that?"

Jack shook his head, not wanting to get into this again, "I...I'm just waiting for the perfect moment, that's all."

Harlow looked at him sceptically, "And who says there is any such thing?"

A little flicker of doubt jolted inside Jack. Harlow was right of course. Now was as good a time as any, he should really just get on and ask her. But he didn't have the words yet, and words were ever so important to him.

"Look," he said, avoiding the conversation entirely, "I'm just popping out for a moment. Be back in five okay?"

"Sure," Harlow said with a nod, holding Jack's gaze with a knowing look for a moment before turning to those still assembled on stage and hollering loudly, "Take five everyone!"

Jack picked up his coat and hat from one of the front seats and waved quickly at Ann before hoping up onto the stage and out the back. Slipping out the stage door, he wrapped his coat tightly around himself, wondering how the air was still so icy in May. It was unnatural.

Walking along the darkened alley, heading towards the brightly lit street ahead, he was so busy wondering what Ann would really like to eat that he didn't even see the guy coming the other way until he near walked into him.

"Hey, sorry pal, didn't see you," he admitted, holding up his hands in apology at his carelessness, going to side step around the other man.

The guy just stepped straight back in front of him.

Jack looked up, frowning in confusion, although he had no time to form any coherent thoughts about it before a fist swung at his face.

The blow wasn't a knock out one, but the shock of it sent him stumbling back to the floor, his hat falling away. He regained his composure surprisingly quickly, staggering to his feet as an instinct to defend himself that had been well honed on Skull Island kicked in. Ignoring the blood flowing freely from his nose, he swung a punch of his own, knocking the other guy away and to his knees.

"What the hell's your problem!" he shouted down at him, his shock at the sudden attack coming out as anger.

But Jack's anger made him careless and he didn't see the second guy coming at him from the darkness to his left until moments before he barreled into him. He fell to the ground once more, cracking his head with a sickening blow on the hard floor. A solid kick to his ribs and a second to his stomach tried to ensure that he didn't attempt to get up again, but the blow to his head had already left his whole being so spinning and confused that that wasn't a possibility anyway.

He lay there almost numb, surprised at how one of the major things he noticed was how cold and hard the floor was beneath his cheek, even above the pain. He swallowed hard, ignoring the taste of blood in his mouth and trying to clear his mind so he could think. He rather wished he hadn't bothered when he realised that the main street was still a hundred yards away and far too noisy and busy to hear any cry for help that he might make. All he could hope for was that this was a simple mugging and they'd just take his wallet and leave.

He laughed a little at the idea that a mugging could be a pleasant outcome to any situation, and immediately wondered if the blow to his head was more serious than he originally thought. Now was not the time to lose his senses completely.

Either way, he guessed he was about to find out what their intentions were as two shadows loomed over him. He tried to get up, tried to listen to the screaming voice inside his head that was urging him on, but his body was betraying them both. He barely seemed to have the strength to breathe let alone get away.

And then, much to his immense relief, a sharp cry split the air.

"Oi!"

Running footsteps were heard then and within seconds one of the shadows was literally lifted away as though snatched up by some great hand. Jack could hear sounds of a scuffle and the cries of his two attackers, but his vision only fully cleared in time to see two people running into the distance and then the ever so welcome silhouette of Derek Harlow leaning over him.

"Jack, son, you alright?" he asked with concern, shaking him a little.

Jack groaned.

"Yeah, I think so," he winced, rolling onto his back and shrugging Harlow's hand away, "Stop that. You're rattling my brain."

Harlow offered him a hand and Jack used it to sit up, the world spinning sickeningly as he did so, a large part of his brain still numb with shock. It'd all been so quick, so out of nowhere.

"Careful," Harlow instructed, ready to steady him as he swayed dangerously, "Give yourself a minute. That's quite a pretty blow to the head you have there."

"Really," Jack replied dryly, somewhat annoyed with the world as a whole right at that moment and not as grateful as he should have been, "And here's me thinking it was just some miners drilling their way out of my skull."

Harlow shook his head, ignoring Jack's words, "Lucky I came out, huh? Was just gonna join you and get a coffee. You know I can't stand that crap Weston's secretary buys us."

"Yeah," Jack said with a nod he insistently regretted, making an effort to calm himself into reason before his voice turned more solemn, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Harlow assured, giving him one of his gentler slaps on the back. He looked down the alleyway in the direction Jack's attackers had retreated, scowling fiercely, "Damn muggers. People got no respect for others anymore. I don't care how desperate you are, that ain't the answer. They should send scum like that straight into the army, that'd sort them out."

"Yeah," Jack said with a bitter laugh, "Give the violent men guns, great idea."

Harlow grinned slightly, chuckling at him, "Well you're still spouting your political trash so you can't be that hurt, huh? Come on, let's get you back inside so Ann can fuss over you. Might as well get some benefit from this."

He wrapped an arm around Jack, supporting him firmly and he hauled him to his feet. Jack found his knees unsteady and his balance all but gone, but that wasn't what disturbed him. It was the thought of Ann seeing him like this that made his stomach even sicker, made him somehow uncomfortable. As stupid as it sounded, he felt like he was letting her down. But it was hardly something he could hide.

As soon as they re-entered the theatre, people began fussing around him, asking him what happened and if he was all right. Harlow led him to one of the dressing rooms, dropping him on the couch before telling one of the stagehands to go and fetch Ann from the auditorium.

"No," Jack protested, trying to get up again, "Really, she doesn't need to-"

"You, shut up and stay there," he ordered, pushing Jack back to the couch, needing only the slightest of touches to topple his unsteady balance. Satisfied that the writer couldn't go any where even if he tried, he turned to the little group hovering in the doorway, barking orders at them about getting some water, cloths and a stiff drink.

Even with people sent off on errands, the crowd in the doorway began to grow and Jack was starting to feel like one of the animals he and Ann had seen in the zoo just days before, a curiosity on display for all to see. The crowd only parted when Ann herself shoved her way forcibly through them, pushing aside anyone who stood in her way whether they were twice her size or not.

She ground to a halt as she saw him, mouth dropping to a gasp at his appearance and as much as he hated the fact that he felt ashamed, he couldn't help it.

"Oh my God…" she whispered in shock, hurrying over to sit next to him, instantly brushing her hands across his face, testing him, making sure he wasn't as broken as he probably appeared. "What happened?"

"Damn muggers," Harlow muttered, shaking his head in disgust, "Decent people just can't walk these streets anymore without running into scum like that."

For a moment, Ann looked bewildered, almost more shocked than Jack himself did. Then two of the lighting crew arrived, carrying a bowl of water and a couple of cloths and she sprung into action. Ann was good at the practicalities of life, she was good at surviving and getting on with things when they needed doing. Taking both the bowl and the cloths, she pulled the small table over so she could rest them there whilst she cleaned him up.

Jack tried to turn his head away, not wanting her to have to do it, still feeling bad somehow. Like he wasn't doing his job.

"Don't be stupid," she scolded, forcibly turning his face back towards her, "Stay still."

There was no arguing with her when she was in this kind of mood so he compliantly did as he was told.

"Well, that's just great," Harlow barked, turning to crowd in the doorway, "And where's the drink?"

"Here's Mr Harlow," one of the young stage hands said, appearing right on cue, handing him a glass of whiskey that Jack guessed was from the bottle Harlow kept hidden in the filing cabinet in his office, even though everyone knew where it was.

Ann frowned.

"Really," she insisted, "I don't think he should be drinking with his head like this."

Harlow chuckled hollowly.

"It's not for him sweetheart, it's for me," he replied before throwing it back in one gulp. To Jack's surprise it seemed even the unflappable Harlow was a little unnerved about what had happened. Jack really hoped that that wasn't testament to how dreadful he actually looked.

"I also found this in the first aid box," the kid added, handing Ann a bottle of antiseptic, "Thought it might help."

She smiled gratefully as she took it.

"Thanks."

"Come on then people!" Harlow hollered after a moment's pause, jumping out of his seat and ushering everyone out the door, "This ain't no peep show. We've got a rehearsal to get through. I think we can leave him in the capable hands of Miss Darrow."

He winked at Jack, who rolled his eyes in return, before the door was shut and he and Ann were left alone.

For a least a minute, although it felt like longer, she worked in near silence, washing the blood from his face, careful to make sure that the cuts and grazes were clean.

"These aren't deep," she eventually stated, more reassuring herself than informing him, "You won't need stitches."

He nodded but said nothing.

When she was finished, she unscrewed the lid of the antiseptic bottle, pouring a generous amount onto the remaining clean cloth.

"This may sting a little…" she warned before wiping it across the cuts on his face.

Jack near hit the ceiling.

"Jesus Christ!" he cried out, gritting his teeth as he tried to hold still, "Is that meant to be helping!"

Ann smiled a little.

"Men," she teased with an exasperated shake of her head, "They can face the jungles of hell for you but try to clean a little cut and they fall to pieces."

"Hey," he said, having to keep talking, saying anything to take his mind away from the stinging agony radiating from his face, "I just want you to be sure that's antiseptic and not acid you're applying."

"Positive. Wouldn't want to ruin that handsome face of yours now, would I?"

He smiled a little at that, still squirming slightly but loosening his death grip on the sofa as the pain began to subside.

"Well I can't be sure," he joked, "You once thought a sound guy was a better looking version of me."

She smiled a little too at the memory, "Well I was right about one thing. You are much more handsome in person."

Jack's grin widened at that, although it made him wince slightly. He didn't know how she did it, but somehow Ann always managed to make him feel better. That was when she wasn't making him feel worse, of course. Ever since he'd first laid eyes on her she had had the power to unwittingly either make him feel like the best man in the world who had rightfully won her heart, or the lowest loser who didn't deserve her and would never be good enough. Great highs and huge lows. There were no in-betweens and it wasn't easy to live with all the time. Was it meant to be like this? Or was he just as bad at this whole relationship thing as he suspected he was?

"Are you sure you're all right?" she asked, putting the cloth aside finally, moving herself to the sofa, slowly shifting closer to him.

Jack sighed deeply, relaxing a little, settling back into the sofa and content to close his eyes and just feel the comfort of Ann's fingers trailing softly through his hair.

"Better," he admitted softly, realising that despite his reservations, he was very glad she was here after all. There had to be give and take right? He had to relax. He couldn't be the only one doing the 'looking after' all the time.

"I'm sorry," she muttered and Jack cracked open one of his eyes to see her looking troubled. She shook her head when she saw his questioning glance, "You were out there because of me, if you hadn't-"

He grabbed her hand firmly.

"Shh," he instructed, "Don't be silly."

"You could have been seriously hurt," she said gravely, "Or worse."

He shook his head, "This stuff just happens, okay? Especially in this city."

"Yes," she pointed out, "But why does it have to happen to us? I'm starting to think that a peaceful life is too much to ask for."

Jack reached out and pulled her towards him and after a moment's hesitation Ann snuggled into his side, sighing in contentment as he hugged her tightly even though his bruised ribs protested at the action.

As her fingers trailed lightly across his chest, sending shivers right down his spine, he smiled slightly to himself. This moment almost made the beating worthwhile.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," Ann admitted softly, her voice a soft whisper in his ear.

"That's something you don't have to worry about," he insisted, "Things are gonna be fine, I promise."

And he was going to make them so. He was going to make everything work out or die trying. It was simple logic because he knew he could no longer live without her.

* * *

Velleda stood, watching the smoke trail from his cigarette whirl into the air, dance in front of him and vanish to nothing. Despite his placid appearance, he wasn't a patient man and his limited forbearance was rapidly wasting away. 

He turned, seeing his current employer sitting in a car which hid fearfully in the shadows. Velleda didn't fear this city though, didn't hide from these darkened alleys where to simply pass through them was to invite trouble. No, the city feared him because he challenged it. Because he stood up and said he was not afraid. He hadn't been afraid when he'd seen his father gunned down, nor when his mother had died. He hadn't been afraid when he'd been taken from the orphanage and put to work in the hellish conditions of the ship's boiler room. He wasn't about to start being afraid now.

He knew things had not gone according to plan when he saw the men running towards him, empty handed so to speak. He didn't even have to ask, they instantly began to explain themselves, hoping he would be lenient.

"I'm sorry, sir," the bolder of the two said, catching his breath, "We tried. Some guy got in the way."

Velleda nodded but didn't reply, letting them sweat about their fate. Within moments, his employer was by his side, throwing a fit just like Velleda expected he would.

"Where is he?" he demanded, part furious part worried, "Do you have any idea what's at stake here? We don't have time for screw ups! This isn't good enough, Velleda, it simply isn't good enough!"

"It's not a problem," Velleda stated, telling him rather than reassuring him.

"But-" the other man started again before Velleda held up his hand to stop him, indicating down the second alleyway to their left. In the distance there was the clear outline of two men dragging an unconscious third between them.

"Things are working out just nicely," Velleda promised, before smiling slightly, "Besides there is more than one way to tackle this and I think that my way has a much better value of persuasion."


End file.
